


Torture

by PreludeInZ



Series: DrabbleRouser [9]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Drowning, Established Relationship, F/M, Feather, Ice Cube, Romance, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:22:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreludeInZ/pseuds/PreludeInZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know who you are, you know I love you, thank you for prompting this <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pemm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pemm/gifts).



> Anonymous asked:

> "torture"

**Scout/Pauling - Torture**

( **warning: graphic description of violence and a trigger warning for drowning)**

Once, Soldier had drowned him in a puddle. It had rained, it never rained in New Mexico, not like it rained in Boston. When it rained in New Mexico, the ground or the air would be thirsty enough that afterward there weren’t any puddles for any more than like ten minutes.

This had been a rare and perfect puddle, four inches deep, in a pothole out at Badwater, which apparently was still lined with enough concrete to keep the water from seeping away.

This was pretty much exactly Scout’s kind of luck.

It was the sort of fight that Scout relished, especially with Soldier. No guns, no bat, no shovel, just a straight, brutal brawl. No one was taking shots at either of them, there was no way to guarantee a safe kill for either side. Actually, most of the fighting had stopped, mostly they were being watched. Maybe the match was actually over.

Scout had been scraped and stinging and bleeding all to hell from rolling and scrapping and being pinned the concrete. His knee had been busted. He had one black eye and his nose was broken and leaking blood into his mouth, compounding the coppery taste from where his lip had been split. One of his hands had come unwrapped, but it didn’t matter, the wrist was busted anyway. But he had Soldier in a headlock and he’d given just as good as he’d gotten, and he had almost won this fight.

Except for that last single burst of adrenaline fueled strength, the one that had Soldier throw him off, onto his back, and then pounce on him before Scout managed to roll all the way over and get to his feet, while he was still out of breath, gasping as 240 pounds worth of the BLU team had landed with a crack on his ribcage. And then Soldier had grabbed a fistful of his hair and the collar of his shirt, dragged him bodily about half a foot, and shoved him face first into the stupid lucky pothole.

Scout had inhaled enough water in panic and thrown enough about with frantic thrashing, that by the time he’d lost the last of the air in his lungs, by the time his brain had flickered and his heart had fluttered and he’d gone limp and dead, the puddle was almost empty.

He’d respawned, shaken Soldier’s hand, said he’d get him next time. Then he'd gone home dejected, whole and safe, but still beaten and broken and drowning inside.

Miss Pauling had come over, she had a copy of his keys. She’d been waiting for him. She’d made dinner, passable, even if she wasn’t the greatest cook. Commented that he seemed quiet when they ate in atypical silence. Hugged him when he shrugged and declined to talk about it. Rubbed a hand over his shoulders, pushed her fingers through his hair. Kissed him. Kept kissing him. Kissed all the places where he’d been bruised and broken and bloodied and filled up the cold, hollow place where he’d been really, really afraid to die.

Then pinned him down, and did things with an ice cube and a feather that were the most incredible, exquisite torture. And Scout knew a few things about torture.


End file.
